Page 37 of Bridget & Gabe Are Not Okay

“It lives where it pleases,” John said gravely. “And where least pleases us.”

It was decided that they would pair up as before, with more experienced knights and swordspeople matched with softer-handed counterparts, and each with a local guide: Sir Hurst with Gabriel, Florian with Bowen, Leonard with Adah, Sidney with Arthur. An older man who seemed struck almost speechless with the honor was going to act as guide to the king.

“And I’ll ride with Sir Bridget,” Gwen said quickly, as if getting it out in a rush would stop Arthur from shooting pointed looks at her, which it did not. Bridget didn’t care. In fact, she almost smiled, but caught herself at the last moment and returned to appropriate knightly solemnity.

“The king should not ride so loosely protected,” said Sir Hurst. “I am an able swordsman, but I insist we ride with the guards.”

“If we ride with the guards, we’re not going to have any chance of glimpsing the Beast,” Gabriel said. “And I’d quite like to. Glimpse it, I mean.”

Privately, Bridget agreed with Sir Hurst. His constant suspicion was very affirming.

“Your Majesty, the people here were warned of your coming, and they might have—”

“Perhaps the guards could ride a short distance away,” Gwen suggested, glancing sideways at John to see if he’d noticed that Sir Hurst was implying he and the other villagers might turn traitor any minute. “Not so close they ruin the hunt, but nearby if needed.”

“Fine,” Gabriel said, looking a bit like a child whose game had been ruined by adult intervention.

“Sorry, but it’s not fine,” said Sir Hurst.

“We’ll ride with you,” Arthur volunteered. “Won’t we, Sid? We’re very quiet. Discreet.”

“Oh?” said Sidney. “Yeah. Discreet. Big time.”

Bridget bit her lip, and did not laugh. It would not be appropriate to laugh.

“Sidney’s great with a sword, and I can be a human shield, in a pinch.”

Gabriel was peering questioningly at Arthur, Gwen was waiting for Sir Hurst, and Sir Hurst was looking as if he were about to demand they call the entire thing off—until Gwen clapped her hands and said, “That settles it then.”

It seemed that it did.

“Loud clapping,” John said disapprovingly, as they all reshuffled into their groupings, “is just the sort of thing that’ll drive away any self-respecting Beast.”

Seventeen

Meanwhile there came tales of the Questing Beast, and so the King and his knights rode long into the forest in order to slay him, and the Beast was fearsome wroth, but the King was so great, the Beast was full sore afeard to behold his countenance, and became quiet like the lamb, and fell flatling to his feet.

—FROM AN EARLY DRAFT OFTHE QUESTS OF KING GABRIEL AND HIS ROUND TABLEBY SIR FLORIAN ARDEN

Bridget wasn’t much of a hunter. There wasn’t anything particularly thrilling to her about letting hounds or birds do the hard work while you gave chase, claiming all the glory once you’d gored a frightened and cornered beast. At minimum, everybody involved in a fight should come to it willingly, and fairly armed.

It didn’t seem to matter that she was far from an expert, because this was far from an ordinary hunt. Their quarry was a mystery, as well as probably being a drunk man’s hallucination, and therefore likely to prove elusive.

Bridget didn’t voice any of this aloud. John and his little dog had been assigned as their guides, and he clearly took the whole thing very seriously. The dog was harder to gauge, but likely felt the same way.

They rode deeper into the wood, Gwen in the middle, Bridget taking the rear; she felt more at ease now, traveling much less conspicuously in their little party. People were unknown factors, prone to behave in erratic and unpredictable ways. Trees were far less concerning, and mostly stayed where they were.

“This is the place, Your Highness,” John said to Gwen, once they reached an unremarkable gap between two large bushes. He was a no-nonsense sort of man. Bridget might have liked him, if he hadn’t been so visibly affronted by her existence. “This is where I saw the Beast just last week.”

“Lovely,” said Gwen, who clearly had no idea what she was supposed to do with this information.

Bridget slid from her horse as John did the same, and Gwen caught on and dismounted as well. Bridget moved to flank her immediately, hand on her sword hilt. John pointed out tracks in the mud, some of them smeared beyond recognition. To Bridget’s inexpert eye the ones that remained intact looked like fairly normal paw prints, a wide pad with four toes.

“You see here,” John said. “These are the hind feet, and these the fore, and when they overlap like this—it means the Beast was on the run.”

The dog snuffled wetly at the ground, and then his ears pricked up, and he glanced at his master for permission to start tracking.

“Your dog has a good nose for this,” Gwen said. “What’s his name?”